


Can't Stand Me Now

by Smalls2233



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gabriel reyes was not a bad person but reaper is, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Self-Hatred, Talon - Freeform, indoctrination, large penetration, non-con, widowmaker treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls2233/pseuds/Smalls2233
Summary: Gabriel Reyes was a possessive man, becoming Reaper only strengthened that.Jesse McCree left him once, he won't let that happen again.





	Can't Stand Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves non consensual sex and indoctrination. Please read the tags and proceed with caution if that is something that could trigger you

Shitty, cheap motels were all McCree was sleeping in these days, if he had the opportunity to sleep somewhere other than the cold, hard ground at all. Places where there were roach nests in damn near every room, the water in the showers ran red with rust, and where he didn’t even want to think about using a black light in fear of what he might find. Still, as he staggered into the dirty room, drunk on cheap, watered down whiskey, he was just grateful to find himself in a bed.

Ever since he left Blackwatch, since he saw the news headlines  _ Overwatch Headquarters Destroyed in Explosion _ , he operated on a damn near constant level of liquored up. It was easier that way, the alcohol dulled the sense of guilt that weighed down on him when sober. All the what ifs that crammed up his mind and left him staring down the barrel of his gun more than once. The ghost of Gabriel Reyes that haunted him, leaving him feeling like an ungrateful traitor for getting out before everything exploded.

Being drunk was easier than thinking.

McCree shucked off his serape and chest armor, tossing them haphazardly in some ancient, moth eaten chair, before working more carefully on his belt and gun. Peacekeeper was placed gently on a table, he had gotten that damn gun custom made before everything went tits up and he wanted to keep it in as good condition as possible for as long as possible. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he felt the presence of something wrong, it was somewhere between setting Peacekeeper down and throwing his chaps next to his serape. But one moment he was fine and the next he felt this inexplicable, creeping sense of dread that clawed down his spine.

McCree whirled around to nothing but thick, quiet darkness but the sense of unease and dread still laid heavy over him.

“Who’s there?” He spat, eyes scanning the room and hand tight around his gun.

There was no response, but the darkness around him seemed to thicken unnaturally. Shadows covered everything and it was like the lights that seeped past the cheap, shitty motel curtains got absorbed by the shade in the room.

Hadn’t he left the lamp on the end table on? The thought flickered through McCree’s mind.

“I’m giving you till the count of five before I start shooting,” McCree barked out. God he was too drunk for any bullshit assassination attempts. All he wanted to do was pass out for the night, not deal with a moron who thought they could get the slip on Jesse McCree.

“One.” No movement.

“Two.” The darkness seemed to ripple and stretch, coating more of the room in inky blackness.

“Three.” McCree tightened his grip on his gun and pulled the hammer down, ready to fire at whoever was hiding in the dark. 

“Fo—“ the darkness surged forward and McCree shot blindly into it but there were no gasps of pain or any noise at all beyond the bullets passing through the thin, cheap walls of the motel. 

Panic flared in McCree’s chest as he was swallowed by the inky black, so dark he couldn’t see the glow of the LEDs in his cybernetic arm a foot in front of his face. The darkness brought with it a deathly chill and he couldn’t help wonder if it was some supernatural force, some hand of God finally delivering justice to him for all of the lives he had taken, all of his cowardice.

But Jesse McCree wasn’t a man who would go down without a fight, he never had been. So despite the strange, cold darkness that had swallowed him, he was already calculating a plan in his head. He needed to get out of the enclosed space of the motel room, the parking lot lights weren’t bright, but they could maybe cut through the blackness.

Plan in mind, McCree started to move. There was the potential for an ambush outside of the room so he needed to move fast and be careful. 

He blindly bolted to the door, breaths quick and shallow. It felt like there were a million hands pulling on his shirt, his pants, his hair, all trying to hold him back. But he ignored the feeling, ignored everything but his need to get the hell out of the motel room.

When he wrapped his gloved hand around the door handle, it felt like black, sticky tar coated everything and the door was stuck fast. He pulled at the door, trying to force it open but it wouldn’t budge, coated in whatever substance was surrounding him.

The window would be his only chance of escape since the door was forced shut by… something. He tried letting go of the door handle but whatever substance that coated it. McCree’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried ripping his hand off of the handle, but every jerk, every small movement seemed to make it stick even more to the metal.

An unearthly chuckle seemed to come from everywhere around him at once and panic threatened to overwhelm him. Finally,  _ finally _ , he managed to rip his hand free of the door and his glove, stumbling back several steps and collapsing onto the ground, movements still unsteady from alcohol.

He could feel the darkness at that point, heavy and sticky around him, like he was swimming in a pool of tar. In every shallow, panicked inhale, he could feel it crawling inside of him. When he opened his mouth to scream, “ _ Show yourself _ ,” he felt it coat his mouth, his throat, his lungs. 

A small, terrified whimper involuntarily left his mouth at that feeling. He was choking as more darkness clogged his throat and lungs, crowding out the air. He tried cough it up, but failed. He tried to claw the darkness out of his throat, but he could barely move his arms through the thick blackness.

The last thought he had before he passed out was how much he didn’t want to die.

——

McCree woke up naked, on a cot in an unfamiliar room. The walls were some sort of metal and smelled of chemical sterilizers and it was bright, painfully bright.

He took stock of himself, he wasn’t chained to anything nor did it seem like he had been injured. However, where his cybernetic should have been was instead just the stump at the end of his arm. Whoever captured him likely knew of its ability to crumple steel.

So he was down one arm, breathing too deeply hurt, likely thanks to whatever chemicals had knocked him out the previous night (if it was one night ago— he had no sense of time, not in the windowless room he was in), and his head pounded with the telltale signs of a hangover. 

McCree stood up and began walking around the perimeter of the room. He figured it was maybe a fifteen foot by fifteen foot room and the walls had to be several inches of solid steel. He gritted his teeth and returned to his cot, with only one arm he wasn’t going to be able to make even a dent in the walls.

His stump ached, whoever had removed his cybernetic hadn’t been particularly careful and the port that tied his nervous system to the scavenged omnic arm had been dented and scratched, sending random jolts of pain through his body. He rubbed at it, wishing they had just ripped the fucking port out along with his cybernetic. 

The urge to bang on the walls or do something to gain the attention of his captors but his years in Blackwatch quickly squashed that urge. It had been nearly twenty years ago, but he had been through intensive training on what to do if he had been captured by an unknown enemy. He needed to sit tight, formulate a plan, stay calm, and resist for as long as possible.

Of course, that training had hinged on the idea of him having an expert team that would be looking for him. Not… nobody.

McCree clenched his eyes shut and focused on the breathing Genji had taught him years ago. In and out. In and out. In and out. Staying calm was important, he couldn’t panic, couldn’t show any fear. He needed to be featureless, give nothing for his captors to grasp onto.

Time passed as slow as dripping molasses. He didn’t do well with boredom, without anything to latch onto, his mind tended to attack itself. It had been a problem his entire life, it had landed him in trouble more times than he could count back in Blackwatch. How when he was without a problem to solve, something to do, he ended up causing trouble to give himself something to do. Reyes would—

McCree shook his head, he didn’t want to think about Reyes. Thinking about his old commander, his old… lover? Partner? Boyfriend? They had never put a label on what they had been. But either way, it would just lead to more problems than he needed at the moment.

How long had it been since he woke up? Ten minutes? An hour? In the featureless room he couldn’t tell. No window letting in the light of the sun, no clock, just nothing. Nothing to tell the time, nothing to distract him from his mind.

God he wished they had left him at least a blanket to cover himself so he wasn’t sitting with his goddamned dick out.

More time passed and McCree moved to scratch an itch on the back of his neck with his cybernetic arm and had raised his arm halfway to his neck before remembering that  _ oh yeah, they took my fucking arm _ . He scowled and scratched at the port, thoroughly annoyed.

Maybe at about the two hours since he woke up mark something finally happened. If lights flickering and the sound of three short pings on an intercom playing counted as something. At least it showed that there was somebody there. McCree scowled and looked around the room, he hadn’t noticed the ports for an intercom system on his walk around. If there was a hidden intercom there were probably cameras all around the room, watching him unseen.

He ran through the list of people who he had pissed off enough recently to kidnap him and throw him in a hell cell instead of just sending him off to the US government for his bounty. None of this shit was Deadlock’s style and there were too few glow in the dark skulls for it to be Los Muertos. He had recently stopped an omnic smuggling ring in Kentucky, so it could have been them.

McCree threw his head back against the steel wall, there were too many people he had pissed off.

_ What about Talon? _ Some dark part of his mind asked. He had mostly stayed out of their business, only getting involved when innocent people were in trouble but he had heard the stories of former Overwatch agents being hunted down. But they were always killed on location, never dragged out to who fucking knows where and left buck naked in some military grade cell.

He supposed he should be flattered, whoever it was who captured him thought he was dangerous enough that they had taken damn near everything from him and left him in a cell that could probably survive a nuclear blast.

So, with nothing else to do, McCree sat and he waited. And he waited. And he waited. The pings seemed to play over the intercom at semi-regular intervals, though the number of pings that would play seemed to be random.

Maybe ten hours in, when McCree wanted to tear his hair out in boredom, the same darkness from the motel started seeping into the room from vents far from the floor. It crawled down the walls like tar, leaving everything with a black film, absorbing the light. He tensed as he watched it slowly condense in one corner.

There was nothing he could do but watch, so watch McCree did as the inky blackness slowly take human form. He couldn’t help the way his hand shook as he recognized the coat, the emblem, and the mask from the newsreels.

He was in the grip of Reaper.

“If you’re gonna kill me, kill me,” McCree ground out, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Kill you?” Reaper’s voice was gravel rough and unnerving, the same timbre as the chuckle from the hotel, McCree realized. It hadn’t been a chemical used to knock him out, it has been Reaper himself.

“Why would I kill you,  _ Jesse _ ?” His name was a twisted purr and every warning bell of danger went off in his mind.

McCree stood up and Reaper was on him before he could even think, let alone react. Metal claws dug deep into the back of his neck and a armored knee was rammed into his spine.

“Go fuck yourself,” McCree growled.

“Here I thought I trained that attitude out of you.” Reaper squeezed the back of his neck tighter, drawing a gasp of pain from McCree’s lips. His taunting tone lit a fire of rage within McCree, who was he that he thought he could talk that way to him?

McCree thrashed in Reaper’s grip, trying to wiggle his way free. He didn’t know what he would do when free, it wasn’t like he had a gun or a way out or even two fucking working arms, but he needed away from the crushing weight of Reaper.

Suddenly, a wave of pain raced through his entire body and his muscles completely gave out. Originating from the part of his neck that had been itching for the past several hours, pulses of electricity hammered his body, leaving him immobile and limp.

“Why?” McCree managed to ask when the shocks subsided. “Why not just kill me?”

“Because, I’m not letting you run away from me again,” Reaper said, his tone was deceptively gentle, a contrast to the cold claws digging into McCree’s neck. His tone turned harsh as he said, “You will do everything I tell you to do, if you act out or resist, that shock will seem gentle.”

McCree clenched his jaw, it was better to not respond. He didn’t want to give Reaper anything to latch onto and use against him later. He had already said too much, done too much.

Silence hung heavy for several long moments. The pressure dissipated from McCree’s neck and back, leaving him face first on the cot, muscles still fucked from the shock.

“Trust me Jesse,” Reaper’s voice was mocking and the words sent cold shivers of recognition down McCree’s spine. “You should know by now; I won’t lead you wrong.”

Before McCree could say anything in response, scream at Reaper for using his past against him, question how he knew the words Reyes had said on the night everything had gone wrong, Reaper’s form dissolved, leaving McCree alone and covered in an oily black film. 

——

McCree wanted, no,  _ needed  _ alcohol. About fifteen hours into his confinement, his hand was shaking from lack of booze and his headache had only gotten worse. He hadn’t been sober for so long since… well since before he left Blackwatch. 

Gabriel Reyes possibly being alive as well as a vengeful terrorist holding him captive didn’t help with the whole “god I want to be dead drunk,” situation much either. There wasn’t even fucking anything he could do except for listen to the pings when they came up and try to not talk to himself.

Sixteen hours in and the oily film Reaper left on his skin felt like it was moving. McCree tried his best not to react, entire body tensing as he felt the oil crawl on his skin.

Eighteen hours in and the film was definitely moving.

A strangled whine left McCree’s lips as the he felt the slight stretch of his rim. So this was his Reaper was going to torture him; kidnap him, hold him in captivity for damn near an entire day, taunt him, and finally rape him.

His heart pounded in his chest, but McCree was desperate to show no reaction. He couldn’t give Reaper the satisfaction of knowing how this was affecting him, the panic blossoming in his chest.

As McCree struggled to still his shaking hand, more of the Reaper residue slid into him, slowly stretching him out as it grew thicker and thicker. He didn’t let himself think of what the stretch meant, what was probably coming when Reaper grew tired of playing with him.

McCree focused on how much the stump of his arm hurt where Talon had ripped off his cybernetic. If he could focus on that pain, think of nothing else but it, maybe he could ignore the stretch in his ass and the pressure on his soft dick.

The nanites inside of him were about as thick as a large cock by that point and his own dick was starting to grow hard, as much as he was trying to keep it soft, to not react. The pressure on his cock was like a hand wrapped around it, stroking it the way that…

The way Reyes used to.

McCree grit his teeth and refused to think about Reyes. He focused harder on the pain in his arm, he noticed a wire poking out that might have been the root cause of the aches. If he could pull it out, it would stop the random jolts that came from the cybernetic port. Of course, that was reliant on him not passing out from the agony that removing a wire hooked up to his nervous system would cause.

An inadvertent moan left his lips as the nanites in his ass brushed against his prostate. Maybe passing out from pain wasn’t a bad idea, it would at least stop the torture he was being put through for the moment. Maybe it could lead to a chance for him to escape.

It was wishful thinking, but the pressure on his cock and the nanites in his ass weren’t letting up, he could feel the precum beading on the tip of his cock. He wasn’t going to give Reaper the satisfaction of getting him to cum, so before he could let himself think about what a stupid fucking idea ripping out wires connected to his nervous system with his bare hands was, McCree wrapped his fingers around the wire and pulled.

Sudden, blinding pain was everything McCree knew. It was like… well it was like he was ripping the goddamned nerves out of his arm. He kept yanking, pulling at the wire. At some point, he felt the waves of electric shocks coming from whatever machine Talon implanted in his neck, but they were nothing compared to the blinding pain stemming from his arm.

And then there was nothingness. An absolute abyss where he felt nothing as something was injected into his system to get him to stop mutilating the wires in his arm.

McCree passed out with a self satisfied smirk on his face— he won that round.

——

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Reaper’s growl was unamused.

“You taught me to be slippery, didntcha?” McCree forced a nasty smirk onto his face as he glared at Reaper. His cybernetic port had been fully removed at some point after he passed out and his right arm was completely bound to his side. “Didn’t you ever read that a trapped coyote would bite its own foot off to get free?”

Reaper took one, heavy step forward, and then another, and another until he stood a foot from McCree’s face, darkness coalescing around him. McCree watched it warily, nervous as to what he could be planning on doing with it next. “I didn’t teach you to get caught.”

“Were you gonna teach me how to become a bad guy then? When I left Blackwatch, it’s because I thought you were too extreme going against Talon. Didn’t expect that you’d start  _ working  _ for them.” He was mad now, cold fury lighting a spark in him. In that moment, the expressionless mask in front of him didn’t unnerve him, it made him furious. “Didn’t expect you—“

Reaper backhanded him.

“Nobody likes listening to you complain,” Reaper growled, gripping McCree’s jaw between two claws. “Do you want to know why I’ve come for you now, Jesse?”

That damn purr again, it was a mockery of the way Reyes would say his name when they were close. A mockery of tender touches and whispered  _ I love yous _ .

“Because you can’t get your dick wet with anyone else?” Riling Reaper up probably wasn’t a good idea, but McCree was spitting mad. “So you decided to kidnap your ex and rape him?”

Reaper ignored him, “Do you remember Amelie LaCroix?”

A cold feeling of dread settled like a brick in McCree’s stomach.

That cold, inhuman chuckle left Reaper, “We had managed to make a ballerina into the ultimate sniper, the ultimate tool. Imagine what we could do with a trained marksman.”

“No,” McCree couldn’t help the whispered whimper that left his lips.

“You told me yourself, Jesse,” Reaper’s grip on his jaw tightened. “You wanted to be with me forever, and now you have that opportunity.”

“Just kill me, I’d rather die.”

“Oh, Jesse.” Reaper let go of his jaw and the darkness that surrounded him ran along McCree’s back. “You don’t have the luxury of that choice anymore.”

McCree fought to steady his breath at the rising panic with him. Reaper was going to rape him and he was going to be turned into a living weapon, emotionless and able to do nothing but follow orders. The Gabriel Reyes he knew would have never done this, would have never considered it. When word of what happened to Amelie had reached them, he had been furious, had led missions himself to find her.

What happened to him?

The nanites trailed down McCree’s back like a twisted mockery of a lover’s hand, too gentle and smooth for what he knew was about to happen. It was too much and there was nothing he could do to stop it, not with one arm bound and the other useless.

On some twisted level of himself, McCree wondered if he deserved this. Was it his penance for leaving Reyes in the end? For abandoning him and letting him become whatever monster he was now. 

A single tear dripped down his cheek as the nanites easily slid into him and Reaper’s hand returned to his chin, forcing him to stare directly at the mask as he was violated by the ghost of the man he once loved. 

“Why?” The whispered word was barely more than a breath.

“Do you remember what you wrote in the letter you left in my bed the night you left?” Reaper asked as the tentacle nanites within McCree thickened. He couldn’t help the way his dick twitched, not out of arousal but out of a natural reaction to the stimulation Reaper was putting him through. “You said that if you could have it your way, we would be together forever. That I was the only person you had ever loved.”

The nanites within McCree rammed against his prostate almost cruelly, drawing out a pained moan. “Yet you didn’t love me enough to say that to my face. To tell me goodbye.”

The tentacle that penetrated him was thicker than any cock at that point and a tendril wrapped around his dick, stroking him to full, embarrassing hardness. “Fourteen years we worked together, ten years we were together, and you didn’t even tell me goodbye.”

The pressure on his cock was painful and Reaper’s claws dug into his jaw, pinpricks of blood dripping from where the metal pierced the skin. “I was afraid I’d change my mind if I talked to you.”

The mask disguised any emotion from Reaper’s face, but McCree felt as if he could see his cold fury underneath it. “Talon saved me after everything went wrong in Switzerland, something that  _ you  _ could have helped to prevent.”

The pressure within McCree reminded him of the time Reyes and Jack fucked him at the same time, back when he was still young and in love and happy. He hadn’t been fucked in years and he was certain that he felt sticky trails of blood dripping down his thighs as the nanite tentacle fucked into him, too wide, too damn big.

He hated how good it felt, how Reaper still remembered every spot McCree liked, how to make him come undone. He hated the traitorous moans that left his lips as Reaper fucked the nanites into him. He hated the fact that Reaper wouldn’t touch him himself beyond forcing him to stare at the mask.

Most of all he hated himself for thinking he deserved all of this.

McCree came, hips jerking weakly, and Reaper still fucked into him, still stroked his oversensitive cock, still rammed the nanites against his prostate.

“Do you want to know what we’ll do to you?” Reaper asked. He didn’t wait for a response from McCree as he continued on, “You’ll be tortured until you break, I’ll be your one source of comfort in those moments, the only one with a gentle touch.” The emotionless growl of Reaper’s voice as he told McCree what would happen to him stabbed cold knives of fear into his chest.

“Just kill me,” he pleaded again.

“You will have small, controlled tumors in your brain that dull your emotions. Your body will be enhanced. Your sense of self will be gone.” Reaper brought his face close enough to McCree’s that he could feel his breath. “You will be a weapon that answers to only me and you will find joy in that.”

“Just kill me.” McCree’s entire body shook in fear. This wasn’t Gabriel. Gabriel would have never been so cruel. Reaper was somebody with Gabriel’s memories and Talon’s programming.

McCree didn’t want to be like him, be like Amelie.

Reaper laughed darkly as he wrenched another orgasm out of McCree. “You won’t even remember your name, you won’t remember any of this.”

“Just kill me.” Tears leaked from McCree’s eyes.

“Oh sweetheart.” Reaper wiped the tears from McCree’s eyes with a gentle touch. “You deserve something much worse than that.”

——

Deadeye’s implant sent a small jolt of electricity to wake him from sleep and three small pings played over the intercom of his containment cell. Reaper was coming with a new assignment. He had completed three already, proved himself a valuable asset for Talon as he assassinated key targets.

Deadeye stood at parade rest, dull eyes staring forward as he waited for Reaper to take him to the transport jet with his latest mission. Although he was supposed to listen to all Talon authority, Reaper was the only one he answered to.

The cell door slid open and Deadeye heard the heavy sound of Reaper’s boots on the cold steel of the containment cell. He did not look at Reaper, did not move an inch until Reaper grabbed him by his chin and stared at him.

“What are my orders, sir?” His voice was a monotone drawl. 

Reaper said nothing.

“What are my orders, sir?” He repeated.

“Repeat your programming,” Reaper said, still staring at Deadeye.

“I am an asset of Talon, I follow the orders of the Council.”

“No you don’t, whose orders do you follow, Deadeye?”

“I follow the orders of the Council.”

“You follow my orders,” Reaper’s growl was quiet and his grip tightened on Deadeye’s chin. “You follow nobody’s orders but mine.”

“I am an asset of Talon, I follow—“

“You’re an asset of me.”

“I am—“ Deadeye cut himself off. “I am an asset of yours, sir.”

“Good boy,” the rumble of approval sent jolts down Deadeye’s spine. After every mission, Reaper would say those words and Deadeye would be filled with a sense of satisfaction, of pride that was supposed to have been programmed out of him. It reminded him of a time that he could hardly remember, when Reaper was Reyes and he was… he couldn’t recall what he had been before Deadeye.

“What is my mission, sir?” Deadeye asked once again.

“If I told you to kill, you would do it without question, wouldn’t you?”

“I have been programmed to.”

Reaper made a satisfied noise. “What would you not do for me?”

“I—“ Deadeye froze. He was hardly able to comprehend the question. “I am programmed to follow your orders.”

“Would you suck my dick if I ordered you to?”

“If that is what you ordered.” He wasn’t programmed for sex, but if Reaper ordered him, he couldn’t refuse.

“Then do it.” The order was cold and emotionless and Deadeye was on his knees immediately. Sucking dick wasn’t a memory the scientists had deemed harmful to Talon, so they left him with it. It made it easier for him to follow Reaper’s bizarre order.

Deadeye worked open Reaper’s pants and was met with the sight of his hard cock. He pulled it free and worked it for a moment with his hand, the way some part of him remembered Reaper had liked it in some other life.

He wrapped his lips around its girth, taking a moment to accustom himself to the size. It had been… he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had sucked a dick, the time from before he had become Talon’s asset was all fuzzy and blurred together. But it had been long enough for his body to be unaccustomed to it. 

“Good,” Reaper growled softly, wrapping a flawed hand in Deadeye’s hair, pushing him slightly. “Take all of it, boy.”

Deadeye didn’t know if he could, but he had to take it all, had to follow Reaper’s order. So he stretched his jaw wide and slowly, slowly sank deeper in Reaper’s cock until it prodded at his throat and his nose was buried in Reaper’s pubic hair. He swallowed along the cock in his throat and inhaled as deeply as he could with his throat filled with Reaper’s thick cock.

The scent and taste of Reaper’s cock were familiar in some way and Deadeye could remember when Reaper was Rey— when he was Gabe and how he would stroke his hair, call him his good boy as he sucked his cock in his office.

He wanted Reaper to call him his good boy again, he realized. 

Deadeye didn’t realize he was choking until Reaper dragged him off his cock and he inhaled huge, gasping breaths.

Reaper stared at him with his expressionless mask. “I told you to suck my dick, not kill yourself on it.”

“I cannot kill myself, sir,” Deadeye’s eyes were glazed over and dull as he stared up at Reaper. 

“I didn’t mean it in that way,” Reaper shook his head. “How specific do I have to be with you?”

“I am meant to follow mission orders, not for sex, sir.”

Reaper stared at him, “We couldn’t program the attitude out of you, could we?”

“I am simply stating my purpose, sir.”

“Stand up Deadeye and follow me to my quarters.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Excuse me?”

Deadeye stared blankly at Reaper, “The Council decided it was too dangerous to allow me into your quarters. I am to report all interactions we have outside of missions to them.”

Reaper snarled, clouds of black nanites building around him. “You do  _ not  _ take orders from the Council. You are  _ mine _ .”

“I am pro—“

Reaper snarled once again and picked Deadeye up by his throat. “You only listen to  _ me. _ ”

“I am—“ Deadeye was cut off as Reaper’s grip tightened around his throat. 

“You are programmed to only listen to Reaper, Deadeye,” Reaper growled, claws drawing blood from Deadeye’s skin. “The entire purpose of this was for you to listen to only me.”

Deadeye’s head went blank. “I will only take orders from Reaper.”

“Good boy,” there were those words again, the ones that sent pleasure down Deadeye’s spine. The other members of the Council wouldn’t call him a good boy, only Reaper did. It made sense to only listen to him.

“What are your orders, sir?” Deadeye asked, desperate for more of Reaper’s praise.

“Follow me to my quarters, Deadeye,” Reaper said, watching him, waiting his response.

“Yes, sir,” Deadeye said in his monotone drawl. This was his order to follow and he would follow it.

——

Deadeye found himself on Reaper’s bed, naked and legs spread. His cock was soft between his legs, a stark contrast to Reaper’s own erect cock.

“Can you not get hard?” Reaper had asked when he noticed Deadeye’s soft dick.

Deadeye thought for a moment. “The Council thought that was a needless reaction. I am a tool for war, not reproduction.”

Reaper made a noise as he slid a finger coated in slick black nanites into Deadeye. He took note that his inability to get hard did not appear to be an issue for Reaper.

A memory flickered in the back of Deadeye’s mind of slick nanites stretching him, but it was hazy and faint, hard to latch onto. As Reaper added a second finger, he let himself stop trying to latch onto it and instead focus on the feeling of Reaper’s hands, one stroking his side softly while the other stretched him out.

“This is all I ever wanted,” Reaper murmured as he stroked Deadeye’s inner walls. A small moan left his lips while Reaper continued stretching him. “I just wanted you to be mine forever.”

Deadeye stared at Reaper with his blank expression, “I am yours.”

“And will you leave me again?”

Deadeye paused, brows knitting together, “Again?”

Reaper added a third finger to inside of Deadeye. “Would you leave me, Deadeye?”

Deadeye shook his head slightly, “My programming would not allow it.”

“Good boy,” Reaper whispered. He pulled his fingers free and wrapped a hand around his cock, pulling it a few times. 

“When did I leave you before?” Deadeye asked as Reaper slid into him. In all of his foggy, hazy memories he couldn’t recall ever leaving Reaper.

“Close your eyes,” Reaper ordered and Deadeye obeyed without question. After a moment Deadeye felt ruined lips on his jaw. “It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that you are here now.”

Deadeye let himself relax in Reaper’s embrace as he fucked into him. He was right, the foggy memories of the past didn’t matter, all that mattered was that he was Reaper’s. He was wanted, he was useful, he was loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking with some people about nasty mcreaper fucks the other day and this stemmed from it lol


End file.
